Saturday, February 27, 2010

Roadmaster Dreams

The Classics
(by R.P.Edwards)

Old and hungry
Paid for!…true
Seen better years
Yes…quite a few
Not as pretty
Not as sleek
A door that squeaks
Replacement parts
A cheap gas ping
An old cassette
And Perry…sings
Yes, fancy fenders…pass us by
But we…are classics
Yes, you…and I

“Please stop, please stop,”  the whispered pleadings of yours truly, standing next to a Missouri gas pump as our old ‘93 Buick was allowed (a very rare occurrence) to drink her fill.  Finally, just past the half C-note spot…she burped. 

Was up and about due my mate’s summons (“Will you do such and such?” “Yes, dear.”) So, I saddled the old eight cylinder…and we cruised.  Deed done I decided to go to the next state (just over the river) and save some money on gas.  Something magical about crossing the Mississippi…the tax burden lessens (guess the politicians aren’t as creative in the “Show Me” state.)  Along for the ride…Perry Como.

Like most, I had been burned out on Christmas Music (after all, it started the day after Halloween) but, a few weeks back I was perusing the offerings at our local Salvation Army store…and there it was; Perry Como sings Christmas songs.  How could I resist? And, surprisingly (to me, anyway) there were a couple songs on it I’d never heard before.

And so, as this week of earthquakes, killer whales, health care “ho hum and humbug,” ends, I, cruising in the “classic,” popped in a cassette and was reminded why we all need a “Christmas Dream.”  Because “we need warm us, to calm us, to love us; we need warm us, to calm us, to love us; to help us to dream our Christmas Dream.”

That’s what I think.  How about you? Click comments below…and say.

Friday, February 26, 2010

Killer Whale...Duh!

Tilly’s Tally
(by R.P.Edwards)

Now, let me see
This death…makes three!
That’s one, plus one, plus one
The whale gets cross
Plays “human toss”
And now…their lives…are done
But, don’t you fret
Don’t call the vet
Or worry for the whale
They’ll let him live
He’s such a studly male

Killer Whale.  Killer…killer whale.  Killer…killer…killer whale.  Tilikum, the SeaWorld whale with a rap sheet, grabs his trainer…and kills her.  That makes three.

Yes, Dawn Brancheau, who was living her dream…died in the jaws of her ponderous pet, and all we hear is how “she” would want nothing to happen to the whale.  “She loved the whales like her children,” says a sister, and Jack Hanna gives his opinion on the “great work” being done with these whales and points out how Tilikum is a proficient breeder.  Sheesh!

How about this:  What say we treat this beastie like all the other “animal friends” that kill us.  We put them down.  Yeah, yeah, I know this whale is a stud, and sure, the guy who jumped the fence was asking for it.  But really…this is an animal.  Say it with me… “Animal!” And no…they don’t have the same “rights” as we.  In fact, in my primitive way of thinking (as in, humans have the divine spark) every killer whale that ever existed, or ever will exist, if you lumped them altogether...they do not add up to one…human…life.

So, send in the harpooners.  Plug in the toaster and toss it in.  How about lethal injection? Or maybe a fight with some Great Whites.  The whale..should bite the dust.

And, oh yes.  All this talk about what Dawn would want.  I wonder, I really do, if she, as her body was being slammed and her lungs were filling with life-robbing water and her loved ones were flashing before her eyes;  I wonder if she would have minded if maybe the whale died…instead of her.  I’m guessing, when it comes right down to it…she’d pick life.  And as for Tilikum? To the cannery with that blasted whale.

That’s what I think.  How about you?  Click comments below…and say.

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

The Calculation

To Done
(by R.P.Edwards)

Never gets to done
Seldom will
Means it probably won’t
Has time to kill
But “Yes”
Will likely make it
“Right now”
Is on its way
“Already done”
Has been there
It’s actions…are the say

It’s called the “birthday breakfast” and it evolved from the “birthday milkshake.”  Kind of a family tradition, the child, on, or near their birthday (my schedule permitting) is taken out to breakfast by their Pop and, over pancakes and eggs (or whatever their little hearts desire) I reminisce about the day of their birth and perhaps add a few, “I remember when you did such and such.”  Usually a few probing questions are asked about the future, plus some admonitions are sprinkled in…and then we’re done.  Since we have a restaurant nearby, walking there is also part of the package.  A few years ago we had ice on the ground and my young companion had a bruised bottom to go along with the experience.

Learned of the heroics (via the tube and the internet)  of the Colorado middle-school math teacher, David Benke, who tackled a Mr. Eastwood, who was intent on shooting students as they exited the school.
Mr. Benke, who was monitoring the parking lot, had his actions already pre-programmed and quickly laid all aside (life, wife and kids, future) in order to quell the threat.  Today, due to his actions, this important story has a small slice of our attention.  If he had not acted, we would be engrossed in the tragedy. 

During this final phase of the Olympics, let us remember that real heroes are not those on the podium (no offense); No, they are the unassuming neighbor, coworker, stranger…who is willing to take the bullet (whatever the bullet may be)…on our behalf.  Hats off to you, David.  Your birthday breakfasts...will never be the same.

That's what I think.  How about you?  Click comments below...and say.

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Olympic Curling?

(by R.P.Edwards)

A sheet of ice
A granite stone
A days respite
Away from home
Me and the guys
A pint…or three
Olympics bound?
How can it be?

I suppose a brief word about the winter Olympics.  We’ve been watching off and on and one “sport” that has caught our attention…is curling.  You know, the forty-four pound granite stone with the handle thrown into the “yea, distant circle”?  Kind of like shuffleboard for polar bears.

Now, I don’t question that there’s skill necessary to position, block, score.  But really…the Olympics?  Then why not “bowling,” or “darts,” or “billiards,” or for us Midwesterners… “washers?”  All games requiring a certain degree of proficiency.

I believe the answer is…the schedule.  They had to fill the schedule with something.  The summer Olympics is crammed full, but there’s only so much you can do on snow or ice.  So…curling.

As an aside:  I actually like this “sport.”  It’s laid back, and even old timers (like myself) have a chance.  Perhaps part of the Stimulus can be put to good use by building a few hundred “curling alleys.”

That’s what I think.  How about you?  Click comments below…and say.

Monday, February 22, 2010

It's all about nothing

It’s all about nothing
(by R.P.Edwards)

It’s all about nothing
But “nothing” has parts
Little plus little
Of gadgets…and hearts
Of sleeping and dreaming and waking and do
A life full of segments
And time is the glue
Yes, it’s all about nothing
But “nothing” …is all
So tend to your “nothings”
Till eternity’s…call

“The evidence is pretty clear; Tiger Woods and John Edwards had a better year than the Stimulus.”  A statement by Sen. Mitch McConnell (R-Kentucky) on a Sunday morning talk show.  Thought it was funny; but it’s not the subject of this blog.

“Do I need to hide the scissors?” A statement “I” made to my fourteen year old daughter who was easing into the school day by watching the end of the Disney film, Mulan.  It was on the Disney channel this a.m., but when it was released on video (sometime after 1998), my youngest girl-child wanted to emulate the Chinese folk heroine by cutting her “own” hair.  [Don’t know what I’m talking about?  Rent the movie, or google]  This, too, is not the subject of this blog.

Last night we had some relatives over for socializing and, betwixt tactics and tosses the subject of “Unions” came up.  The elder gent said, “If it wasn’t for unions, we’d all be paid fifty cents an hour.”  His Mrs. countered, “I don’t like how they influence decisions made in Washington.”  And I wondered to myself why so many of my union “leaders” throw their lot in with the pro-abortion, pro-gay agenda crowd, and how the landscape would change if “unions” took a different stand.  But this, too, is not the subject of this blog.

Finally, after my daily devotions I scribbled a couple scriptures on a note-card, intending to include it in the curriculum of the home-schoolers.  Since Thomas Jefferson thought it necessary to include four mentions of deity in the Declaration of Independence, I figured I could at least have my young’uns learn some of the Almighty’s words.  But this too is not the subject of this blog.

The subject of this blog is, however… “nothing.”  Yes, all the many nothings of our everyday lives.  For, if you’re anything like me, you tend to look back and take notice of the “outline;” the chapter headings, the highs and lows of bygone years.  But it’s in the filler of the paper…the intimate places where every letter is individually, personally laid down…that’s where life…is ultimately lived.  Yes, it’s all about nothing.  But, my friend, nothing…is all.

That’s what I think.  How about you?  Click comments below…and say.

Sunday, February 21, 2010

A Tiger's Tale

Contrition Position
(by R.P.Edwards)

Contrition position
Look in the camera
Tell them you “know”
Don’t smile
Be somber
A tear if you can
Read every word
Follow the plan
Now, bail the boat
Lift anchor
Set sail
Try it again
And this time…
Don’t fail

My apologies for the lack of production.  I wanted the dedication to “Dave” to stand alone for a few days.  It was a minor tribute to someone who died an untimely, unnecessary, and mostly unmourned… death.

I watched the confession of Tiger Woods.  Although I tend towards cynicism (though not quite as much since I’m not working the midnight shift), I choose to believe him.  I’ll take him at his word (whether he wrote the “speech” or not) that he will strive to “do right,” and turn away from his wayward path.  For the sake of the wife, the children, the fans, the “followers”…he’ll do right.  I’m praying he does.

However, in the monologue he made a special effort to mention his spiritual roots of Buddhism.  Maybe it’s to counter the whole “turn to Christ” thing brought up by Brit Hume.  Don’t know.  But here’s what he said, “Buddhism…teaches me to stop following every impulse and learn restraint.”  Ah, yes, “learn restraint.”

Since this is a Sunday post, a word about “self-help.”  True, in Christianity we are familiar with the phrases and necessity of  “crucifying the flesh,” and  “renewing the mind,” but, before these “strivings” the journey must, MUST begin…with total surrender; an acknowledgment that in ourselves we are totally unable, incapable of living a life pleasing to God.  Indeed, truth, honor, purity, and real love…all have a source; and this source is never in the unrepentant human heart.  No, these divine attributes come from He who is…divine.  And the entrance to Him is not through “works,” or “wishes,” …but through a bloody cross.  And so, Mr. Woods, I wish you well.  But, if you want to make your journey back to fidelity more sure (not to mention the other, including eternal, benefits), follow the advice of Brit Hume… turn to Christ. 

That's what I think.  How about you?  Click comments below...and say.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

The Journey to "Gain"

For my Union brother, David, who was cast so much garbage.

The Course
(by R.P.Edwards)

So many vessels
Ply the seas
Towards the land
Of "Gain"
Crashing! Surging!
Through the waves
For profit
And for name
But woe to those whose fodder
Includes the souls of men
For storms and reefs await them
And then
A bitter…end

The goal of all the vessels; the final destination of  literally every ship at sea…was the mythical land of “Gain.”  This port of plenty; this harbor of “have,” inspired the great shipyards--those that employed thousands of likeminded souls, for generations, to produce great liners and dreadnoughts--as well as the father and son craftsmen who would fashion every trunnel and transome by hand; and every seafaring industry inbetween--to build sailing craft able to traverse the great watery expanse from birth…to Gain.  One such vessel, a great behemoth of a boat, was constructed of the finest U.S steel and, upon its ceremonious launch, it violently churned towards the goal; the captain, Profit, firm at the helm.  However, though his command was absolute, his judgment was tempered by the knowledge that his crew, were but men.  And so, allowances for “humanity” were incorporated into the orders of the day until, that is, Captain Profit…went mad.  From that moment on, the attainment of “Gain” was all that mattered and, although there were feigned acknowledgements of other pilots--Honor, Truth, Nobility, Safety, Compassion, Patriotism--none of these were allowed even a finger on the wheel, but were only window dressing for the wandering eye.  And, as time progressed, and some of the crew became weak and wearied and sickly under the constant strain of the trembling transport, some, dangerously approaching the rail…were allowed to fall off.  And others, having given the lion’s share of their meager lives to the ship and clinging desperately on for dear life; these, under the captains orders…were pushed.  And, as these fell into the merciless sea, and some were sucked under and across the jagged steel hull…ending as pieces on the other side of the heartless screws; as their blood colored the expansive, boiling wake…the captain could not be bothered.  For “his” eyes…were only …for Gain.

You know, in this brief and often bitter journey of life, the important things must, must! be those of the living.  True, all of us are on a journey to Gain; and Profit is at the wheel.  However, those who are wise will make sure the tiller’s touch is shared by Care, and Compassion, and Concern and, if a temporary turning is needed to stop to rescue a fellow traveler, a needful neighbor, then I believe that these Honorable vessels will be granted aiding currents, fair winds and following seas, and a sure portage…at Gain.  But, to the others?  To those who sacrifice all for Gold?  These will attract the burg, the storm, and the reef and will, no doubt, sink before they reach safe harbor.  Farewell, David, you are not forgotten.

That’s what I think.  How about you?  Click comments below…and say.

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

Words for hire

(by R.P.Edwards)

Pray for those
Who use their words
As weapons
For the day
For there is One
A record keeps
And judges

“An F…you’re giving me an F?” the young sophomore (clearly shaken) looked down at the huge scarlet letter that adorned her mid-term project (worth fifty percent of her grade!) and then, cheeks ashen and eyes welling, up to her beloved professor who lingered long over the waif like an owl contemplating the distant kitten that had strayed a bit too far from the watchful eye of the farmer’s wife.  “My dear Melissa,” began the tenured teacher (affectionately titled, Uncle Dimples, by his adoring fans) “I have always encouraged the stretching of the envelope, the breaching of the barriers, the topping…of the top.  But (he reached down and gently pulled the now moistened volume from the child’s fingers) your presumption that there are absolutes, concrete concepts, tangible tenets, well…even in this enlightened venue…such a proposition is more than even “I” can fathom…or allow.”  A moment of somber silence ensued until, a full half minute later, the pony tailed professor gingerly grasped the up held title page and, with startling quickness, yanked it crisply from its stapled mooring.  Then, revealing  the “new-old” cover to the class (the other was a bogus reproduction), the not-an-empty seat hall erupted in applause and laughter (leading to a standing ovation) at the prominent “A+” which was shown to all and then lightly placed on the desk in front of the trembling and tearful honor student.  After a step back and a slight bow and a pointing gesture to the author, the professor then held up both hands for quiet and, having obtained it (although not fully as some could not restrain a sigh or whisper of admiration) he spoke the following, “After you have had a moment to digest the preceding experiment, I would like, from each of you (a playful peering over the wire rimmed spectacles to accentuate the point); I would like, from each of you a one page composition--single spaced (again, the peering over the lenses)--on the exceedingly great value of…deception.”

Words.  Our common tools of communication.  When spoken they are invisible messengers that can either help, or hinder; hurt, or heal; harangue, or honor and, when placed upon the page…they can be the great go-between that transfers the thoughts and dreams and concepts of one mind (often distant by miles or millennium)…to another.  And, if being so unfortunate as to be confined to a contract, these unwitting soldiers can be the subject of great scrutiny and dissection and, although in common use their meaning may be clear enough, through the pen and eye of the high priced barrister…they may be twisted into gross, perverted representatives of their former simplicity.

It says somewhere that “every” word is recorded, and that a judgment accompanies the conclusion.  Woe to those, therefore, who use these tools as weapons; as a means to an unjust end.  Who delight in the manipulation of meaning in order to subjugate the simple, to bind and burden and break…those unskilled at deceit.  Yes, woe to those who use their position of power to push, via their “words,” those who share this frail humanity…upon the tracks of the oncoming locomotive.  How short lived will be their victory dance and the hollow acclaim that comes with their temporary triumph in the area of “profit.”  For, rest assured, the evidence for their coming, inevitable, unavoidable trial is being assembled and carefully collated…and it consists of their many, many, damning…words.

The conclusion:  I must be working midnights.  And…I better watch my “own” mouth.

That's what I think.  How about you?  Click comments below...and say.

Saturday, February 13, 2010

Your Inheritance

(by R.P.Edwards)

Here’s a gift
For you
My son
A heavy load
To bear
A crushing weight
To vex your soul
To fill your years
With care
Though some
Would scrimp
And sacrifice
To ease
Their children’s way
Mine has been
A life of debt
That you
My son
Will pay

It was a desperate move (some said “brilliant,” others, “criminal”).  Through an act of  Congress, along with the birth certificate, every newborn was now presented with a bill (no, not the hospital fee); but a note displaying each individual’s allotted portion of the national debt.  And, along with the “bill,” an implant would be surgically placed that would electronically communicate with every earned or unearned (a cashless society) source and “legally” exact a hefty portion (all the while exhibiting a dull pulsing red from beneath the skin of the left temple.) The plus side:  when the “debt” is finally paid, the red mini-beacon goes green, which, interestingly, becomes a much sought after trait in the areas of social advancement…and matrimony.

Forty grand per individual.  That’s what I heard from the news channel as I was drifting off to midday sleep (working the graveyard shift).  The national debt has been allowed to balloon to the point where if every human soul in our land paid an equal share…it would be forty thousand dollars.  For my family, that’s over three hundred thou.  Funny, it used to be that parents saved up for their kids.  Now it’s the other way around.

That’s what I think.  How about you?  Click comments below…and say.

Thursday, February 11, 2010

It's always about Love

It’s Always about Love
(unfinished lyrics by R.P.Edwards)

It’s always, always, always
About love
It’s never, never, never
About hate
It’s always, always, always
About "give"
It’s never, never, never
About “take”
Oh, that I would be like Thee
To see with eyes
That really…see
To play the part
And the part…is “me”
Reflecting who you are
It’s always, always, always…

“How are you doing!”  “We’re still alive!”

It’s been a melancholy kind of morning.  Part of it came with the waking thought that this evening, when the rest of the world puts a firm “period” at the end of the day’s sentence by crawling beneath the comforter and nestling with their fellow traveler into slumbers gentle renewal; instead I’ll be donning the garb of labor and traveling into the darkness…to nestle with the heartless steel.  So be it.

Next was the transport of my eldest daughter to the local community college.  Quickly approaching the age of eighteen, she, who has been home schooled all her life, thought it best that she get the “official” GED to assuage the fears and consternation of those who look down upon the practice of nurtured learning.  Anyway, this young blossom has a wedding date set for mid-June.  I have tried to delay the tying of the life-long knot, but love is a powerful force.  And, as she resolutely sets her course and destiny I find myself sighing and, like the scene from Disney’s “Little Mermaid,” where King Neptune, before waving his magic trident, he looks softly upon his daughter’s distant gaze at the human she so desperately loves, whose world she cannot be a part of, and he says to his crab companion (Sebastion), “She really does love him.”  And then...release is given, and she walks into another man's arms.  So be it.

Then I went to the dollar store.  Funds are limited and a birthday card was needed.  I noticed that this discount shop had some fine ones for half a buck.  Unlike my beautiful wife, who will travail long to find just the right verse, my standards are more accepting and, in short order, I found one.  However, before exiting the establishment I paused at the “book” shelves.   Here, in a graveyard of ambition and expectation, I saw many a hardback that, although the authors had, no doubt, labored long, arduous hours over; their “children,” once lofty in price and position, were now one step above the shredder.  How the mighty have fallen.  So be it.

Finally, continuing my list of errands, I went to the local grocery store and, as I made my way through the entrance control corridor I heard the words first mentioned at the beginning of this piece.  I didn’t pause to look fully, but out of the corner of my eye I saw two elderly ladies…embracing.  “How are you doing?”  “We’re still alive!”

You know, it all comes down to what’s really important, and that, my friend, is not the title in front of your name, or the zeros in your paycheck, or the tickling of your flesh, or the accolades of your associates.  No, it always, always, always…comes down…to love.

That's what I think.  How about you?  Click comments below...and say.

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

Unintended Consequences

Cat Conspirator
(by R.P.Edwards)

The infiltrator
The plant
The agent
The mole
The fly in the ointment
The mouse
And the hole
The catalyst
The variable
The stir stick
The heat
Just push in the cat…
And wait
For the feet

She wanted in there.  She was quite insistent.  The gray ghost…the nocturnal nuisance…the cat; she hovered by the door and did her figure eight dance in front of the drawbridge that led to the chamber where the two oldest males slumber.  I was up and, since my “upness” (to be fully appreciated) needed conscious beings, the claw-bearing cruise missile was launched.  I then quietly closed the hatch and proceeded to go about my business knowing that the cat was purposely doing…what cats do.  And, sure enough, a few minutes later, Son, number two, was shuffling about in the kitchen speaking of being awakened by cat paws on his face.  I thought it quite humorous until later in the afternoon I heard about his difficulty in staying awake at the University.  Something about getting up too early.  Oops, another case of unintended consequences. 

Was watching the news and seeing how our debt master (China) is beginning to use its growing “ownership” to influence our behavior.  Whether it be our dealings with Taiwan, or sanctions against Iran, or the managing of our own economy; they’ve got a firm (and getting firmer) hold on our economic throat and it appears that squeezing is a natural.  Of course, the solution is…get out of debt.  But it appears that that route is not a top priority of the big thinkers in Washington.  And so, the unintended consequence of our “credit” mentality…is servitude.  I’m sure the Tea Party folks are adding canvas to the tent.

As far as my Son’s sleepy session at the U (even complained of neck pain from excessive bobbing) I am a bit remorseful.  But, my window of opportunity to mess with him is getting smaller.  So…it’s still funny.

That's what I think. How about you?  Click comments below...and say.

Sunday, February 7, 2010

Tebow, and Truth

How to Kill
(by R.P.Edwards)

Dehumanize your enemy
Declare them less than man
So much easier to dispose of
To fill the selfish plan
Treat them like a tumor
Remove and throw away
They’ll never stand to face you…
Until the judgment day

The Superbowl is upon us and, one of the commercials of controversy (although not yet seen by the general public at the time of this posting) has to do with Tim Tebow--a Heisman trophy winner who, over twenty years ago, was offered life by his mother, Pam, against the advice of her physicians who thought her recovery from a debilitating disease would be aided by the in Utero destruction (abortion) of her unborn son.  She, a Christian missionary, put her faith in a higher physician…and the world is blessed by her decision.

Now, apparently this commercial is a very low key celebration of life and family (otherwise it wouldn’t have been allowed in this venue).  Nevertheless, those who strongly support abortion rights are crying “foul!” They (although, remember, the commercial has not yet been seen) have elicited the aid of a couple sports spokesmen (Sean James and Al Joyner) to counter the message by gently (I watched ‘em) reminding us of the rights and wisdom of women. 

Just a slight word of advice.  Instead of taking the “athlete” tack, I recommend a more direct, more transparent approach.  So, when, say, Pam Tebow says how she’s glad that her son was born; counter by having women testify who are glad they’ve had an abortion .  And, when Tim says how he’s glad he had a chance to be born, counter with an individual who is glad he was never given that chance.  Come to think of it…that last part might be difficult.

Once again, the issue is not the choice of the woman, but whether the baby in the womb…is a “baby” in the womb.  Oh, that we would at least adopt the standard used in our criminal justice system to give these little guys a chance!  C'mon, let’s seriously look at this precious, unique, growing thing in the womb…and see if it rises to the level of “a reasonable doubt” of being human.  And, since “it” obviously does…let’s let him or her be born and “then” if mom wants to give the baby away…fine. 

As an aside:  I read one account where a pro-abortion group said the sponsor of the Tebow ad (Focus on the Family) is an extremist organization; well out of the mainstream.  What a laugh…and what a sad commentary on who we have become. 

That's what I think.  How about you.  Click comments below...and say.

Friday, February 5, 2010

The Baseline

The Baseline
(by R.P.Edwards)

The baseline
The standard
The foundation
The stone
The measure
The future
To hone 
Now we’ve been told
That the past
Is askew
It took all this time
To discover
What’s true

“Here, put this plastic tube in your mouth; take a deep breath, and then, when I say so, blow till you almost pass out.”  A paraphrase of the instructions given to me at one of the many stations at my yearly work physical. Also on the menu was an EKG, X Ray, blood pressure check, vision, ears, chat with the doc, and a refit of a respirator (that I’ll probably never use).  That “respirator” thing meant I had to leave my beloved goatee in the sink (alas.)

The thing about “Physicals” is that there is a known “norm.”  We have established long ago (“we” as in smart people, not me) how a “healthy” body will respond or register.  Anything outside these parameters…and there’s a problem; a problem that needs to be addressed.  And, since we humans have limited warranties (the “physical” body anyway) as I get older the company is adding on some extra checks to make sure I’m not on the verge of keeling over.

The other day the Secretary of Defense, Robert Gates, said something that scared me.  He said, “We have received our orders from the commander in chief and we are moving accordingly.”  He was referring to, as you might surmise, the President’s view of human sexuality and its--as far as human rights go-- equality with race.  In other words, open homosexuality should be allowed and accepted in the military.  

Now, a couple days ago (when I started this blog) this discourse would have been more passionate and pointed.  Indeed, when I began I had a lighthearted fantasy concocted of how Arlington National Cemetery would be converted to farmland since the soil, due to the multiplied thousands of interred rolling in their graves, made the land perfect for crops.  However, let me forgo all that and just ask, again: When the vote was cast for Hope and Change, was it your desire that the “Don’t ask, Don’t tell” policy be discarded?  Was it your hope that human sexual preferences be put on par with ethnicity?  Was it your dream that abortion would be expanded and established--even more than it is--as a constitutional right?  Did you really yearn for larger government and a greater tax burden?   

I began this tepid piece (sorry) with the story of the baseline.  As a nation, our foundation, our “baseline,”  goes back to a time when modern interpretations of the constitution were unthinkable.  Understand, I do not question the sincerity of the president (or that of the many new hires), but I do question their vision…or should I say “revision.”  And, if I am in the minority…so be it.  But, before I consign myself to that place, I’d like to know for sure…Is this really the change you wanted?

That’s what I think.  How about you?  Click comments below…and say.

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

I Love Gloves!

I Love Gloves!
(by R.P.Edwards)

When I was young
so long ago
I used to get wet
I used to get cold
I used to get hurt
I used to get burned
I didn't know
what I needed to learn
But then I heard a voice
as if from above
It said, "Listen boy! Get you a glove!"
So I did
and now I say
I love gloves!

As the rest of the world sleeps...As the sane snuggle another hour or two, I think it only appropriate to begin the "dayshift" with a new video, titled, "I love gloves!"  I dedicate it to my employer, U.S. Steel because...truly...they love gloves.  And do I.

So, before you partake of the heavy, depressing subjects of the day, grab your folgers and click on the video link to the left.  You'll never look at your gloves the same way...again.

Comments?  Click comments below...and say.

Monday, February 1, 2010

No deficit in double talk

Double Standard
(by R.P.Edwards)

Deficit spending
We know you well
Credit card…hell
But the government’s different
They charge
And WE pay
We’d go to jail…
if we did things Their way

Chili n Cheese omelet.  First tried it in Hawaii, over thirty years ago.  This morning, due to left-over chili in the fridge (nearly old enough to walk) I volunteered a couple eggs to accompany the beans.  Not bad.  Went well with the ancient heel of bread found buried in the cupboard (not fuzzy yet).  Doggone it! Can’t stand to throw the old timers out!

Noticed the new budget has been announced (yawn.)  Seemed a mix of… “the other guys fault” and  “it’s for your own good.”  Which equates to, as usual, massive and getting bigger…debt.  I especially like the “investment” strategies, like education.  Yes, throw more money at the kiddies.  Honestly, as a home schooling family (no tax credit, no government help, and we still pay taxes to help the local schools) the solution is (and I almost hate the word due to its soiled associations); the solution is…Choice.  Give a voucher to mom and dad and let them pick the school.  With a little competition, schools and scores would soar.  I know “we” could do wonders with just half the money allotted each child.

And yes…the deficit.  Since the title of this blog is “The Layoff Letters,” it was during that time when we realized just how wayward our budget had been.  Prior, we had been living with the assumption of continued increase.  However, reality arrived…and we have had to adjust.  So, the question:  When will “reality” make an appearance in the halls of congress?  From the proposed budget…it’s not there yet.

That’s what I think.  How about you.  Click comments below…and say.